Strange Fates
by LOTRLover23
Summary: We've all seen those Girl-Falls-Into-Middle-earth-and-Joins-the-Fellows hip-of-the-Ring stories, haven't we? Somehow, the girl always enters conveniently close to Mirkwood/Rivendell/A Certain Son of Thranduil. But what if she fell into the First Age, when the Sons of Fëanor were seeking the Silmarils, and Gondolin was still hidden? This is her story. No slash. Kind of AU.
1. Prologue: Lothlórien

**A Quick Note...**

Despite what is said below, this story is not a crossover or anything somehow associated with one! The 'Twilight' and 'Harry Potter' sagas are mentioned once each later on in the story, and in passing. I repeat: this is not a crossover. It's a Silmarillion story, not Twilight or HP. I just don't want to get sued. Oh, and the characters listed in this story I picked randomly because they make brief (or possibly not-so-brief... I honestly don't know yet) appearances in this story. But it's obviously about my OC, and there is no slash.

**… And a Not-so-Quick Disclaimer:**

I don't own anything in this story. Middle-earth and everything in its universe were created by J.R.R. Tolkien, and everything is now owned by Middle-earth Enterprises and New Line Cinema. I DO NOT claim to own anything! For the characters that I thought up I even chose names that he created and it would feel wrong to say I owned those, so I dedicate them to Professor Tolkien, as he inspired their creation.

Other mentions of copyrighted items or books or real people in this story are not mine either. The Star Wars Franchise is owned by The Walt Disney Company and 20th Century Fox. iPhones belong to Apple, Inc. SparkNotes is owned by SparkNotes LLC. Sarah Dessen owns herself. The 'Twilight' book saga and motion pictures of the same name and anything related to them are owned by Summit Entertainment and Little, Brown and Company. They were created by Stephenie Meyer, not me. Let's see... the 'Harry Potter' series was created by J.K. Rowling, and is owned by Time Warner, Bloomsbury Publishing, and Scholastic. Starbucks is owned by the Starbucks Corporation. Any other copyrighted items/names, etc. mentioned further in the story will be addressed later on, and their respective owners will be mentioned here.

I AM NOT getting paid or receiving other compensation for writing this story.

Whew! I know that was probably overkill, but as I said earlier, I don't particularly want to get sued or have to take this story off this site. So! On with the show...

**IMPORTANT:**

Italics are thoughts.

**Prologue**

Galadriel gazed at the group before her. An Elf, of Mirkwood, the sole son of King Thranduil. A Dwarf. A Man of Gondor. A Man of the North; Aragorn, she knew this one well. She smiled slightly at him in greeting. Four Halflings: the Ringbearer, his servant, and his two cousins.

Nine had set out from Rivendell. The Wizard was gone, then. He had passed beyond her sight.

But that could wait, for the moment. A slight movement caught her attention, and her gaze flitted away.

There was another. A maiden had appeared from behind Aragorn, stepping reluctantly from her hiding place. Or maybe he had pulled her out; it made no difference. Her garb was strange, and she carried no weapon. She looked around at the forest with wide eyes, as if she had seen nothing like it before.

There was something familiar about her. She was different than the others. The Lady of Lórien searched through her memory. Ages had passed, and she had remained, forever unchanging. She had seen much of the world, and knew much of what went on within its borders.

Galadriel's eyes widened slightly as remembrance struck her. _This has happened before..._


	2. Chapter One: Enter the Main Character

**Enter the Main Character**

Alexandra Ekaterina Semyonov was an ordinary 17-year old by most standards. Her father's parents were Russian, and though he did not speak the language and had become a fairly ordinary American by the time she was born, he had kept up the family tradition of giving ethnic names. Early on in her life she decided that her name was too long for even her to pronounce, so she went simply by Alex. She did reasonably well in school, played the violin occasionally, and she spent much of her time reading Sarah Dessen romance novels. She texted her friends roughly once a minute, and therefore had become adept at hiding her iPhone from the hawk-like eyes of her various instructors. She was in a few AP classes, though not enough to be classified as a nerd. In fact, she did not really belong in any of the various common high school 'cliques.' Although not particularly religious, she attended a private Catholic school in the lovely city of Boston, Massachusetts. Most of her friends went to public schools, and so she hung out with them twice a week after school and on the weekends.

She had straight, elbow-length dark brown hair (nearly black) that she often kept up in a topknot. She was tall, and stood more than a head above most girls at her school at the somewhat fantastic height of 6'3". She did not participate in school sports (much to the chagrin of the school basketball coach) other than the required gym class freshman year, though she somehow stayed skinny anyway, which probably had something to do with both her fierce hatred of most foods and her extraordinary passion for ballet, the latter taking up much of her coveted free time after school.

Her eyes were a strikingly bright blue, and her skin stayed pale even after whole days spent at pools during the summer, after which she often acquired a nasty sunburn. She did not consider herself to be particularly pretty, and thus did not care much about her appearance. She rarely wore makeup, and never did anything more with her hair other than washing it every morning and brushing it twice a day.

Her home life was fairly normal as well. She was an only child and her parents mostly left her alone, inquiring periodically after her grades and usually requiring her to attend one meal per day with them. She had a moderate monthly allowance, usually spent on either the latest juvenile romance novel, tickets to a chick flick, or the occasional smoothie. Her mother, Ann, was an engineer who worked for an oil company, and her father, Petr, was a liberally tattooed painter whose artwork was sold in private galleries across the nation. Her family was comfortably off, though not particularly wealthy. But she did not love her parents. She supposed that she cared for them, in a way, but she did not love them. It was not that they were harsh or cruel to her, but instead that they were so different from her that she could not understand them, nor could they understand her. Her mother's mind was strictly mathematical, calculating and precise. Her father's was artistic, creative and free-thinking. Alex's fell somewhere in the middle, but too far on the other end of the spectrum to be understood by either of her parents. But they got along reasonably well, for all their differences. And so they coexisted, living in the same house, but related only by blood.

She had never known anything about the strange universe of Middle-earth except for the half-overheard conversations of the cheerleading team about the hotness of a legless elf (but honestly, how could those little toy-making creatures at the North Pole be hot? Especially one missing appendages. She'd always known that those parties had completely fried their brains), and the often occurrence of the dorky gamer guys quoting: "Po-ta-toes! boil em', mash em', stick em' in a stew!" every thirty seconds, though she was completely clueless to the history of that infamous line.

Essentially, she knew nothing about it, except that only nerds and geeks were into Star Wars and Lord of the Rings, and so, according to the laws of teenagedom, she could therefore have nothing to do with Middle-earth or risk being classified as such. Her social status was precarious enough as it was, that she knew. She hated fantasy/adventure books anyway, and the sheer volume of that tome was repugnant. Everyone knew that you only ever thought about reading books over 1000 pages for school, and even then you just looked up the summary on SparkNotes.

Her thought processes on the subject had lasted roughly thirty seconds while she was talking to a particularly nerdy cousin on her mother's side at yet another incredibly awkward family reunion, and she never thought about Middle-earth again.

Alex went to bed at 11:30 every night. She would pull on her pajamas, brush her hair and teeth and then slide into bed, send a few last texts, and slip off into the wonderful world of dreamland. On the night of June 23rd, she did exactly that.

But in the morning, she woke up in a place that was decidedly different from her bedroom.

xxx

Naturally, her first thought was: _"Where am I?"_

There seemed to be no one else around to answer (unless she counted the birds), and so she slowly sat up from where she was laying and looked around.

She seemed to be in a forest of some sort. The trees were everywhere, a thick covering of lush moss and verdant ferns shaded by their branches. She was in a small clearing, the sunlight filtering through the leaves and landing in wiggling spots on the ground.

She rubbed her eyes, though when she opened them, the forest was still there. _This is a dream. That's right, I'm still asleep._

After a few awkward minutes in which she stared at her surroundings, she decided that having nothing else to do, it would be best to walk. So she finally rose, randomly picked a direction and started off into the trees.

And so she walked on, plodding slowly through the forest, her head down at the ground. The sunlight hurt her eyes when it peeked through the cool shadows of the trees, making her head hurt. The piercing pain of hunger that had appeared soon after she had woken up had gradually turned into a dull ache, though her throat grew thicker with thirst every second that passed.

_Can you get hungry in dreams?_ her mind whispered gleefully, but she ignored it.

She finally heard the splashing of water through the trees, and her aches and pains momentarily forgotten, she sprinted toward the sound, coming upon a small stream. She quickly cupped her hands into the water, filling them with the cool, crystal waves. She quickly raised them to her lips, but stopped before drinking.

_Should I? I can't clean it._ She reluctantly let the droplets fall, and they rejoined the moving water. It was torture to be so near, and yet not be able to partake in the cool, quenching beauty of that liquid!

She finally let out a small, rueful laugh. "It's pick your poison, then? I think I would prefer dying of cholera than of thirst," she said to no one in particular.

_I thought you were dreaming,_ a particularly annoying and logical part of her mind muttered. _Whether or not you can purify the water shouldn't matter._

She drank her fill, and then sat on the bank, dipping her sore feet in the water. The bottoms of her pajama pants were coated in grime, which gradually turned to mud as the waves washed over them.

Her reflection gradually focused in the small pool she was near. She realized that there were leaves tangled in her loose hair, the legs of her fuzzy pajamas were torn, she had blisters forming on her bare feet, and she was very literally dripping sweat.

_I am so gross,_ she thought despairingly, burying her head in her hands. But then she brightened. _This is all a dream. I'm not really this dirty._

She finally got up from her perch, walking on with the stream. The frothing noise soothed her after so many hours of relative silence. She had not realized just how much noise there was in the city. Cars, the soft click of keyboards, the occasional airplane, the music that someone was always blasting two houses down. There had always been so much noise, and the silence unnerved her.

A few hours from when she had found the stream, she began to feel decidedly... sloshy.

_Oh, crap. I have to pee._

She stopped, staring off into the forest, trying to ignore the sounds of the moving water behind her, which certainly did not help the situation.

"So... what do I do?" she muttered to herself.

She had never been camping or spent more than one hour in what could be classified as 'wilderness,' her experiences on the subject confined to the required school field trips to the local nature center every year in elementary school. After a few increasingly uncomfortable moments of silence, she eventually headed off into the trees, looking for something to duck behind.

_First time I've wished I was a guy,_ she thought.

After a few awkward maneuvers, she rose, feeling somewhat better, and headed back to the creek, quickly dipping her hands in the icy water. And then she walked on.

The sun gradually began to set, and the stars began to peek out of the sky. Looking up, she realized that she had not known how many there really were. They covered the sky like the blinking, glittering diamonds in a soft bed of dark blue velvet that she had seen in a jeweler's window once. They were actually very beautiful, she realized.

But as night fell, she missed the lights as well. Light was everywhere: the hall, the lamps on the street outside her window, the neon signs blinking in the distance. Here it would be utterly dark. The moon was hidden, and the starlight was not enough to see by. She shivered. Her thin tank top was not enough to keep her warm. It was finally dark enough that she could not see to walk further, and so she reluctantly headed back toward the forest. All the horror stories she had heard of bears, wolves, and serial killers suddenly came back to haunt her, and she stopped halfway to the trees. She turned back toward the welcoming splash of water, but the wet rocks shone faintly in the light. The idea of sleeping on such a hard surface was enough to deter her.

_At least I'll have some chance of sleep. As long as a bear or axe murderer doesn't find me first,_ she thought glumly.

And so slowly walked on toward the trees, her heart beating fast with fear. She could feel a hysterical scream bubbling up to the surface, but she forced it down. She finally sat down, her back against the cool bark of one such trunk, facing the stream.

And before she knew it, her eyes closed with weariness and she was again asleep.

xxx

She awoke to find the light shining in her eyes. "Mom, not yet," she mumbled, rolling over. Her foot encountered something soft and wet, and she froze, suddenly awake, though she did not open her eyes.

_Oh, god. This is not real. I'm going to open my eyes and see my wall._

But the sound of splashing water hit her ears, and she almost cried. She cracked open an eyelid to find that she was still in the forest, lying on the only dry spot on the soggy bed of moss.

She rose, and the gnawing pain of hunger from the day before hit her again. She had never gone so long without food. It did not occur to her to look for something to eat, as she had no knowledge of edible plants whatsoever. She ached all over, and her muscles were stiff and sore. She looked down, and her bare feet were black with dirt and blistered from climbing over the rocks and being poked repeatedly with twigs and pinecones. Not even the mandatory bruises and scrapes of her pointe shoes could compare to this.

She dismally walked over to the stream and drank as much as she could hold. She briefly considered trying to bathe, but she had no soap and the thought of climbing back into her clothes dripping wet was repugnant. She would wait.

She began to walk, picking her way along the stream, following it in the direction she had started, occasionally stopping again to drink. The sun slowly rose in the sky, and her shadow lengthened as the day passed. The seconds passed all too slowly now that she had nothing to do. She realized that she missed her phone very much. Texting her friends was something she did automatically, and the withdrawal was almost more than she could handle.

She tried to occupy her time by thinking about what she would need to do when she got back, but a part of her realized with sudden finality that she knew that this was not a dream. It was very much real. She had no idea where she was, or how she had gotten there, but she refused to think about it. She knew that if she did she would either scream, cry, or go completely hysterical. She plodded on, walking on the bank until the stream gradually trickled into a small lake. She stood on the bank for several minutes, staring glumly at the water. Now she could only head off into the forest and hope to find civilization of some sort.

Only a few moments back into the woods, she stubbed her toe on a rock, wincing with pain. She sat down heavily on a fallen log, staring at the ground._ I want to go home,_ she thought, resisting the urge to cry for the second time that day.

She finally looked up, and there was a man in front of her. She stayed completely still, her tired mind trying to process this surprising new turn of events. She absently noticed that he had long, dark hair that was partially braided back, and was wearing some sort of tunic and leggings, a pair of leather boots on his feet.

_Maybe some kind of cosplayer,_ she thought.

But it was the drawn bow, the arrow nocked and pointed at her heart that her eyes focused on.

"Um... hi?"

He didn't respond, so she tried another tactic.

"¡Hola!"

Another awkward moment of silence.

"Guten Tag! Bonjour? Привет?"

"Who are you?" The hard, masculine voice came from behind her, and she stood, surprised. In the corner of her eye, she could see more men, all wearing the same medieval-style clothing as the first. She was surrounded.

The voice grew cold, though the man speaking drew closer. "What is your name?"

"Alex," she said, looking down nervously at the arrow aimed at her heart.

He finally moved into her vision, a drawn sword in his hand. "Your real name."

"Alexandra Semyonov?" The words came out in a rush.

He motioned one of the other men, who procured a length of rope. "If you refuse to tell me, then I shall have no choice but to declare you an enemy."

Her eyes flashed. "It _is_ my real name! News flash: the Cold War is kind of over now. You can stop hating on Russians. Jeesh, I'm not even Russian. My mom's an American."

He did not answer, stoic and silent. She went on. "Look, you can stop acting, all right? I don't know why I'm here, but I want to get home. I know you guys get really into the roles and stuff, but I'm not in the game or whatever it is you're doing, so you can just _quit._"

"You are in the realm of King Thingol. I do not know of these strange nations you speak of, nor the tongues you seemed to be speaking earlier. But I am not 'acting,' nor is this a game."

She looked at him again, though her eyes widened as she suddenly noticed his ears. "Your ears are pointed."

His expression was still aloof, though it conveyed his disdain admirably. "I am an Elf."

She laughed. "An elf? Like 'Master gave Dobby a sock! Dobby is a free elf?' I never saw 'Harry Potter,' but I think that's right. Or like the ones that work for Santa at the North Pole? I think you're a bit tall for that. Man, those are _wicked_ prosthetics. They actually look real." She stepped closer to get a better look, though the tip of the arrow pressing into her chest stopped her. She turned her gaze to the man with the bow and raised her hands, glaring at him accusingly. "Jeesh, you can lay off. I'm not going to hurt him."

The other man spoke, and she turned back to him. "They _are_ real."

She just looked at him. _Maybe they're all mentally ill? Maybe I'm hallucinating. I knew they put something in that Starbucks latte! This could be a really tasteless joke... no. This is a dream,_ she desperately told herself. _They are all figments of my imagination._

"Somebody pinch me," she said, looking around at the men grouped around her. They simply stared back at her, completely expressionless.

"Or... not, I guess." Still, they said nothing. She turned back to the one who seemed to be their leader.

"Who are you?" Her eyes narrowed.

"I am called Mablung," he said shortly. The man with the rope came up to her, silently binding her hands behind her back. She tried to tug them free, but he was surprisingly strong.

"What are you doing?!"

The one called Mablung sheathed his sword, and the archer lowered his bow. "I am taking you to the King."

"You are crazy! I won't go! Please take me back to my family! You must let me go..." She shook her head, muttering to herself. "This is a dream. This is not real. I will wake up in my bed, and none of this will have happened." The man (or elf) finished tying the knot, and pulled her into the center of the group.

Mablung spoke again. "We march until nightfall. We will reach Menegroth in three days."

"Kidnappers! You're going to jail for this! I will sue you until you have nothing..." her hysterical voice died off into the distance as the group began to march.

xxx

Now, this is totally and completely random: but WHY hasn't anyone written a Beleg/Nellas romance fic? I know there are a ton of Lord of the Rings writers but only a few Silmarillion writers, but they always struck me as a cute couple. Someone should do it. And when you do, be sure to send me the link.

Please leave a review! I love to hear what my readers are thinking.


	3. Chapter Two: Men and men and Other Such

Note to my followers: I've added a prologue, so you may consider reading that. It's short, promise. But otherwise, the first chapter is the same.

For my long disclaimer, refer to said prologue.

Enjoy!

**Men and men and Other Such Important Events**

After an hour of her protests and screams, Mablung threatened to gag her if she did not shut up. Of course, he said it in nicer terms, but that was, essentially, how she perceived it. She glared at his back until her gaze dropped to the ground, too tired even to look up.

They marched the entire day. When they stopped for the night they fed her some kind of bread, wrapped in leaves. It seemed slightly sweet, and maybe a bit like almonds, but otherwise the taste was entirely foreign. Had she not been so tired she might have worked up the courage to ask for more, it was so delicious, but she gladly ate her ration and then fell into a deep slumber. She was roughly awakened at dawn, and they continued their march. The next day passed in a blur, the same as the first.

And then, almost at nightfall, they approached what the men (or Elves, if she were to believe whatever nonsense they had told her) had called Menegroth.

She didn't look up when they crossed a bridge, the river underneath frothing over the rocks. Only when her vision darkened and she realized that they had gone underground did she raise her gaze.

What she saw made her catch her breath, her weariness momentarily forgotten. She seemed to be in a huge hall of some sort. It was a cave, but unlike any cave she had ever seen. There were huge pillars carved to look like trees, so life-like that she could've sworn she was still in the forest. It was lit dimly by jeweled golden lanterns swinging from the branches, spilling a warm, comforting light. The trees reached high into the cavernous ceiling, and she realized that there were birds nesting on them. Not stone birds, but living birds, singing gaily. She nervously glanced down again at the floor, wondering just how many people had their heads pooped on every day. Winding through the trees, at what would have been the forest floor, there was a stream. With real water, gurgling and splashing merrily. It fed many small pools sprinkled periodically throughout the forest floor, glittering in the light, like little springs full after a storm.

_How rich would you have to be to live in a place like this?_ she wondered._ Now that's why those guys looked so real. It would cost a lot of money to get costumes that fancy. Maybe this is some sort of cult?_

She had been kidnapped, that was it. Somehow they'd gotten into her room while she was sleeping and kidnapped her. They'd taken her to their fantasy realm and were going to brainwash her into becoming some Renaissance-era freak like them...

Mablung stopped in front of her, and her train of thought was rudely interrupted as she concentrated on not running into his back face-first. Or falling on her face, for that matter. But maybe if she did, the others would fall too, like dominoes? And then she could run away and escape.

But before she could put her desperate (and obviously flawed) plan into action, she was pushed forward, and Mablung stepped aside.

She looked up to find another man on the throne. He was wearing some sort of tiara, which would've been funny if he hadn't been looking at her like that. He was kind of scary, she decided. Even with the tiara. But not enough to really scare her, because he was also wearing a long dark blue dress. Well, more like some sort of long robe, but it looked like a dress. His face was so grave that she felt like she would burst into giggles.

"Mablung tells me that you were found in the forest."

"Um... yeah." She looked away quickly, trying to keep her expression somber and failing miserably.

He waved a hand, the rest of the party dismissed. They bowed low toward the throne and walked silently out of the hall.

She belatedly noticed that there was a woman seated beside him. In all actuality, she was the most beautiful woman Alex had ever seen. Her hair was very long and dark, nearly the same color as Alex's. She wore a long, silvery gray dress that shimmered in the light. She seemed to glow with an ethereal, silvery light, and she also wore a tiara, matching the man. But something about her made Alex's humor evaporate. There was something different about her. _She's not someone to laugh at,_ Alex thought. _Even if she looks like she's wearing a bunch of Christmas lights._

But the man on the throne looked back at Mablung, and Alex inwardly sighed in relief. She felt rather as if laughing would most definitely not be a good idea. She realized that they had already spoken while she was planning her escape, and he would continue now that they were alone.

Mablung began to pace in front of the throne, his hands thoughtfully clasped behind his back. "She is a Man, though not-"

"I am _not_ a man!" she shrieked, somewhat surprised at her own outburst. The man on the throne looked up at her, and Mablung stopped in his tracks, his back still toward her.

Mablung turned to face her, eyes gleaming dangerously. "You are not an Elf. You are not a Dwarf. You appear to be a Man, though taller than most."

"I'm _not_ a man, and if you can't tell from there, I'll show you if I really have to," she seethed. "I am a _woman!_"

"Yes, you are a woman, if a very strange one. But you are of the Race of Men, so therefore you are a Man."

"No. I'm-"

His eyes showed sudden weariness, his voice tired. "You are of the Race of Men."

"Which means...?" She raised an disdainful eyebrow.

"You belong to the Race of Men."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, duh. I'm a human, if that's what you mean, thank you very much. But c'mon. Really? Naming a whole race after the males? How sexist is that?"

He turned away, sighing. "As you can see, she mainly spews nonsense. I fear that I cannot understand much of what she speaks."

The man on the throne looked at her quizzically. "Nor can I. The dialect is strange. Where can she have hailed from?"

"That's right, just talk as if I am NOT within hearing range," she muttered, glaring at the two of them. If they could hear her they ignored her, instead continuing on, though they seemed to have switched to a different language. She absently wondered why the woman didn't say anything, picking at her fingernails while she waited. Her glittery cobalt blue nail polish was chipped, something that annoyed her. She'd only painted them at a sleepover the week before, and the time spent on such a tedious task was enough to irritate her, but now her work seemed to be in vain. She looked up at the ceiling, unable to bear the thought of what the rest of her must look (and smell) like after days without a shower.

Somehow, she didn't think this was a cult. It was too _big_. Nobody could create a whole world like there was here. Not even Bill Gates, if he wanted to, had enough money. But there were so many people, and if she was right, this huge cave would have roughly the population of her hometown. It would be impossible to keep that hidden, with satellites and other advanced technology. An idea was slowly taking shape in her mind, but it seemed so absurd that she quickly pushed it away.

Naturally, Alex could not understand what they were saying, but for your reading enjoyment the author has kindly translated their conversation for you.

"How did she enter the Girdle?" Thingol asked softly, peering at the strange woman where she stood in front of him.

"I do not know, sire. Some strange force is at work here," Mablung murmured, though his brow creased with worry. "She wears strange garb. It is unlike anything I have ever seen."

"I do not believe she is from Beleriand, nor even any lands we have charted," Thingol said thoughtfully.

"She may be dangerous, my lord."

Thingol turned his gaze to him, raising an eyebrow. "A lone, unarmed woman? I think not."

"It could be an act."

"If so, it is an exceedingly clever one."

The man on the throne turned to her, and Alex looked up.

"Where do you hail from?" His voice was cold.

"I don't think..." she gulped, finally voicing her idea. "I think I'm from a different world, or at least far off in the future."

His voice turned hard. "How did you enter into my realm?"

"I went to sleep, and I just... woke up."

He stood, and she absently noticed that he was freakishly tall, much taller than she was. And she wasn't short, either._ Holy cow. He must be at least seven foot ten_, she thought to herself. _Maybe even eight feet?_

"There is strong enchantment around our borders, yet you somehow entered the Girdle of Melian without our knowing."

She shrank back. "I told you already. I went to sleep in my world, and I woke up in this... place. Thing."

The woman looked at her, and Alex felt as if a cool hand was searching her soul, looking through all that she was. The lady spoke, her voice soft and musical. "She speaks no untruth. I believe that she was sent here for some unknown purpose."

The King turned to her. "By whom? The Valar? Why would they send one such as she? She is not a great warrior, nor a healer or scholar, or even a bard. What purpose could they have?"

Alex giggled. She was tired, hungry, and thoroughly confused, all of which eventually had compounded to make her rather hysterical. "Velour? Like, the Fabric of Doom or something? As in those horrid pastel tracksuits old ladies like to wear? Because I don't really see how-" A glare from Mablung silenced her. The king might have made her laugh, but his commander was definitely scary.

The lady stood. "That remains to be seen." She looked kindly at Alex, and her eyes softened. "Do not judge her too harshly. None of this was her doing."

She floated gracefully down the steps to Alex, pressing her hand in in a cool embrace. "Ilúvatar has some plan for you, one I cannot see. You fate is hidden from my sight. But do not worry. All things right themselves in time." With a small smile she silently walked out of the hall.

_What_ is _it with these people? How can they move so quietly?_

Alex stared longingly after her retreating form. Now she was alone with the scary commander and the funny king-guy, something she was NOT looking forward to.

Finally, after a long silence, he spoke to Mablung again in whatever other language he used.

"She will be as a guest in my halls. Until I can learn more of her, I want her near me." He continued in a low voice. "But see that she is watched at all times."

"Yes, my lord." Mablung stepped back from the throne, and the man on the throne turned to her.

"What is your name?"

"Um... Alex."

"You cannot use your true name in this world." He looked thoughtfully at her. "Athaliel I name you, Daughter of Strange Lands."

She rolled her eyes. _And they think my name is weird?_

"Yeah. Whatever," she said, receiving a sharp glare in return from the king.

She sensed someone looking at her from behind, and Alex looked over her shoulder. A woman appeared, stepping out of the stone forest, and Alex jumped. _Honestly, this is getting creepy._

The man on the throne looked at the her. "Escort Lady Athaliel to her chambers."

Mablung unsheathed a knife, stepping toward her, and Alex's eyes widened. _Oh my god. He's going to kill me. Why didn't I run while I had the chance?_

She nervously stepped back, but the woman behind caught her. "Stay," she said softly.

Mablung reached her, and she shut her eyes tightly. But instead of the sharp pain of a blade in her heart, as she thought she would feel, there was instead the sound of the rope being sawn away. Her hands suddenly fell apart, and she opened her eyes, rubbing her wrists ruefully as the blood rushed back into her hands.

_Couldn't have tied them any tighter, could you?_

Mablung's voice, quiet but deadly, sounded in her ear. "I would bear more respect toward the King, were I in your position. Do not forget that it is in his halls you shall stay."

She did not spare the haughty commander a second glance as the other woman led her away from the hall.

xxx

Now, stay with me for a minute. I know that 'sent by the Valar' is the usual excuse for a teenage female randomly appearing in Arda, but it's usually followed by 'to save Middle-earth,' (and, incidentally, the unspoken 'and fall in love with the author's preferred male character,') neither of which Alex is going to do. Yes, she was sent by the Valar... but for entirely different reasons, which will be revealed later on. To quote Gollum as he takes Frodo and Sam to Shelob's lair (but in a slightly less-creepy fashion), you will see. Oh, yes, yooouuuuuuu wiiillllllll sseeeeee...

I also realize that if you've read the Lay of Leithian (Release from Bondage; NOT the 'Lay of Lúthien,' as it is often incorrectly named) than you know that my description of Menegroth is not strictly canonical, but it was how I imagined it. It's pretty close, anyway.

Also, pertaining to the Elvish name she was given, I couldn't find 'strange lands,' 'foreign,' 'alien,' or anything synonymous with those terms in my usual English-Sindarin dictionary, so I had to use the base 'athal,' which means 'stranger.' So the name is technically not correct, but it was as close as I could get. Please forgive me this grievous error.

Please tell me what you thought! And if you notice any errors (grammatical, canonical, or otherwise), please tell me. I'm definitely not perfect, but I want to make my work as good as it can possibly be and would welcome any advice that you could give.


	4. Chapter Three: In Which Life Really

I llllliiiiiiivvvvvvveeeeeeee!

Firstly, thank you guys so much for the reviews last chapter. You are amazing!

Apparently my chapter titles are too long and keep getting cut off. I apologize.

I wrote, edited, and published this entirely in one three-hour sitting. Applause would not be considered inappropriate.

For a disclaimer, refer to the prologue.

Enjoy!

**Chapter Three: In Which Life Really Sucks**

The Valar sat upon Elerrina, looking down at the world below.

"Why?" A shocked Yavanna was the first to speak.

"How did it come to this?" Aulë whispered.

None spoke for a long moment.

"Too long have we have neglected Arda," Ulmo said at last. "This has gone too far."

"There is no honour left among them. Valor is nonexistent. They have descended into greed and cowardice. They kill without thought, they throw away what they own only to buy more while others starve. They spent their lives living in an imaginary world called 'the internet,' abandoning all notion of what was once good and whole in this world. They have lost the battle against their true natures," Irmo said disgustedly.

Another moment of silence.

"The Race of Men has fallen." Nienna finally said sorrowfully.

"Nay. There is still hope for them." Varda's soft but powerful voice echoed around the chamber, and the others hushed, all turning to face her.

"The old days have passed, Varda. There is no door for Men. They have sealed their own fates."

Varda turned to face Námo. "Have not the younger of Ilúvatar's children the right to choose their own destinies?"

"They have chosen their paths."

"They have not yet descended into shadow! There is still hope, however slim."

Námo rose. "But will they wish to change? They cling to old ways. They would not dare to stand and fight against whatever forces seek to sway them from their purpose."

Varda stood as well. "Does not the blood of the Men of the West still run in their veins?"

"And what happened to Númenor, Varda? They fell, just as these have done."

"Not Elendil, nor his sons."

"They have forgotten. Too many ages separate them from their noble ancestors. The tales are no longer history, but legends known only to a few and believed by even fewer. They are children's stories, no more."

"But not passed out of memory entirely."

"_We_ are a myth, Varda!"

The room fell into shocked silence.

Námo fell back into his seat. "We have been called 'gods' by many. You were eaten by your father and then married your brother." He looked to Ulmo. "You made love to your grandmother and carry a three-pronged spear."

His gaze turned to Aulë. "You are a crippled smith with an unfaithful wife."

His lips twisted in a slim smile. "I abducted Yavanna's daughter and took her to wife, dooming her to eternity in the Underworld."

Varda was the first to speak, her voice mastered with difficulty. "This is of no import."

Námo remained silent, staring tiredly at the floor.

"They must change, or they are doomed to fall."

He looked up. "How do you propose to accomplish such a mighty task?"

"Send one of them to witness the world as it should be."

Ulmo broke what would have been another long, appalled silence. "We cannot do such a thing."

Varda turned to him. "Even the smallest person can change the course of the future. Should this person see what Arda and its people were meant to be, their task would be laid before their feet. The rest will follow."

"You propose to send a human into the past?"

"Yes," she said simply.

Another moment of contemplative silence.

Nessa spoke, raising her head. "Varda speaks the truth."

Vairë frowned. "There must be another way."

Varda turned to her. "There is no other way. We are barred from interfering."

She raised an eyebrow. "And this would not?"

"It would be the beginning only. The rest must run its course."

Nienna spoke. "It is too dangerous. Were this person to change the past, it would prove disastrous."

"It is a risk we must take. We can delay no longer!"

Irmo turned his gaze to Varda. "Perhaps," he said quietly, "she is right. I stand with my queen."

"I as well," Estë said.

"I am not convinced-" Námo began.

"Silence!" Tulkas' booming voice echoed around the hall. His usually merry face was grave.

"We must do something. Unless any of you can think of any other means, Varda is right. The World of Men is falling into darkness. We cannot simply stand aside."

Oromë stood, turning to Manwë. "What does the King say?"

Manwë raised his head, but remained silent for several moments before beginning, his voice slow and careful. "Mayhap Varda is right. I too have doubts, but I see no alternative."

Námo sighed in resignation. "It shall be done."

"Who shall be chosen?" Vána asked.

Varda sat down again, but her manner conveyed no triumphance. "Someone who is entirely immersed in this new world."

"There are many such persons."

She stared out into the distance. "There should be something different. In a few there remains some spark of life. Some still wish for something more than they have become, even though they may not realize it themselves."

The Valar fell silent.

"There is a girl," Nessa began. "I have seen her. She is as you speak. I think she would suit our purpose."

"What is her name?"

"She calls herself Alexandra."

"Show me."

Varda closed her eyes, searching. After a moment of silence, she smiled faintly, looking up at the assembled Valar. "She will do."

"But what of her tongue? It is a far cry from the Common Speech," Yavanna said.

"She will be able to understand them, and they her. It will ease her passage," Varda said calmly.

"Where would she come into the old world?" Ulmo asked.

Varda sat silent for a moment. "Doriath. Melian saw much. She will be safe there. Gondolin would not welcome her. Nargothrond was hidden. Men were scattered and leaderless. It is the Eldar to whom she must arrive."

"She must not fail in her task," Námo said, warningly.

Varda let out a slim smile. "She will not."

xxx

The woman, whom Alex suspected was some sort of servant, led Alex through a maze of halls, going deeper and deeper into the mountain, until she finally drew out a key and ushered her into a small room.

The first thing Alex did was throw herself down on the rug in front of the roaring fire and sleep. The bed looked very inviting, that was not the problem, but she was so dirty that she did not want to begrime the perfectly good sheets. Besides, she had grown somewhat used to the hard ground in the two nights she had spent in the wilderness, and the rug was soft and the fireplace warm. Or so she tried to tell her sore and aching muscles.

She awoke what she thought was several hours later, looking around her room for the first time. It was far smaller and less elaborate than the hall she had seen earlier, obviously for lesser guests, though still far more lovely than any hotel room she had ever stayed in. There was a bed, with thick blankets and soft sheets that she longingly ran her eyes over, not daring yet to touch, a looking glass hanging on one wall that she studiously avoided for fear of what she would see, and a sort of desk beneath it that she supposed was a dressing table based on the comb placed on the polished wood. There was also a sort of small wardrobe, which she opened to find two long dresses, a cloak, and a sort of tunic with leggings hanging from the hooks. There were also several lamps, glowing with a kind of silvery light from some hidden source.

There was a single door leading out into the halls she had gone through earlier, and a smaller one leading into something else. This one she opened, finding herself in a sort of small bathroom. There was a recess in the stone floor, filled with bubbling, steaming water, and a small cake of soap set on the ledge beside it. She kneeled, sticking a finger experimentally in the water. She drew it out in surprise; it was warm. _There must be a sort of network of springs beneath the mountain,_ she decided, remembering the rivers flowing through the throne room.

She sat back on her heels. To be honest, she wanted nothing more than to throw herself into the invitingly hot water. But what would she wear when she was done? Alex did not relish the thought of heavy, cumbersome floor-length skirts. But she couldn't wear her now-torn, grimy pajamas either.

She settled for glaring at the increasingly tempting bath.

_Fine,_ she thought after several awkward minutes of silence. _Have it your way, then._

She roughly stripped down, tossing her clothes into the room outside, quickly shutting the door, and climbing into the water. She sat there for what felt like hours, glorying in how _clean_ she felt. It was indescribably wonderful. She finally grabbed the soap, washing the sweat and dirt off her skin and eventually, with considerable difficulty, managing to wash her tangled and matted hair, trying not to think about how long it would take to brush it out again. Or the amount of frizz involved. But whatever they put into their soap, she decided, it smelled amazing, inhaling again the delicately fresh fragrance that brought visions of dark forests filled with misty rain and high, snowy peaks into her mind.

Finally, reluctantly, she climbed out of the water. There was some sort of towel, more of a sheet, really, that she wrapped tightly around her chest before stepping out into her room.

The first thing she noticed that her clothes were gone.

_Damn her!_ she thought, knowing immediately that the woman had come back and taken them away, probably to be burned. Filled with momentary rage, she stomped to the door, about to open it and take out her fury on whoever happened to be in the vicinity, before realizing that she was practically naked. Even angrier, she picked up the comb off the dresser, throwing it with all her strength at the wall. It bounced off, unharmed, with a slight clang, and she sat down heavily on the bed, about ready to kick something. But with difficulty she restrained herself, realizing that were she to do so, she would most likely break a toe. Or two. Those stone walls didn't look very forgiving. Nor did the heavy doors.

She had awoken in a strange forest, was picked up by a bunch of sword-toting men, and was now stuck in some sort of underground fortress.

_Murphy's Law right there,_ she thought, burying her head in her hands. _Why is it always _me_?_

She took a deep breath in, trying to stop the tears that seemed to suddenly be flowing unchecked down her cheeks.

_I wonder what Michael would think if he saw me now,_ she thought, and the utter absurdity of such an idea made her burst out laughing. Michael was her boyfriend of six months, and the sort of person who was immediately labeled 'hipster' by their preference for slouchy beanies, skinny jeans, and indie coffee shops.

She stopped laughing abruptly. What was he thinking? Was there some sort of search going on for her? Were the police involved? Did her friends miss her? Did her parents miss her? What had the school been told?

_Oh, god,_ she thought. _I want to go home._

Spent after such an intense emotional outburst, Alex fell back on the sheets, closing her eyes. She was hungry and tired, she knew, and very much wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep.

_Alright,_ she thought, pushing away the increasingly distressing thoughts that seemed to be invading her mind. _I suppose I'll have to wear whatever they left for me._

She rose and picked one of the dresses out of the closet with a grimace, the airy material of her chosen garment a blue so dark it was nearly black. The sleeves were long and fitted, the neckline dipping slightly. It was strikingly simple, with only a subtle pattern of swirling vines and leaves embroidered on the wrists of the sleeves. She picked it up, holding it out at arms' length and surveying the expanse of fabric. She raised an eyebrow.

"What is this, prom?"

After a moment, she quickly pulled it on, internally bemoaning the lack of proper undergarments. It would be very hard to get used to not wearing a bra.

_First time I've been glad about being an AA-cup,_ she thought, staring down at the gown. She absently ran her fingers over the skirt, the material silky and cool under her touch.

She didn't even want to think about the lack of underwear, again berating herself over her stupidity in throwing her clothes away.

"You know, for something equivalent to the Middle Ages, it's actually not that bad," she muttered. Even though obviously someone else's cast-off garment, hanging loose about the shoulders and the hem a bit too long for her comfort, she felt as if it were the sort of thing a princess in a fairy tale would wear. The thought lifted her mood slightly. What little girl didn't want to be a princess? Alex, as a small child, had seen little use in being royalty unless one was allowed to ride horses and get muddy and fight in battles. Pretty dresses were tolerable, she supposed, as long as you got the adventure to go with them.

Who could have guessed this insane turn of events?

'Insane,' she knew, was an understatement, and the thought of where, exactly, she was too huge for her tired mind to process. So, picking up the comb from where it had landed on the floor, Alex sat down at the desk, looking into the mirror. She grimaced. She had known it would be bad, but this…

Her eyes were bloodshot and puffy, her nose suspiciously red and rather runny. Of course, she had never been one of the rare girls who looked even more beautiful when they cried, their tears managing to make them seem even more pitifully vulnerable than otherwise. But this had nothing on the tangled mess that had formerly been her hair. _Speaking of rat's nests,_ she thought, attacking it viciously with the comb.

Something like half an hour later, she was done with that unpleasant task. With a yawn, she surveyed her surprisingly un-frizzy handiwork. Perhaps it was the comb, she thought, examining it with interest. Instead of plastic it was made of a silvery metal that had glided effortlessly through her knotted tresses. Or maybe it had been the soap.

_Honestly, I don't care,_ she thought with a yawn, looking longingly at the bed. She slowly walked over to it, crawling gratefully into the sheets. The mattress was so soft, she felt as if she were sleeping on a cloud. It was probably stuffed with feathers, she thought. Not that she was complaining. The blankets were thick and warm, wool that was incredibly soft and not itchy in the slightest.

And snuggling deeper into her plush linen cocoon, ignoring, for now, the rumbles coming from her abdomen, Alex fell into a deep and dreamless slumber.

xxx

See? There really WAS a reason for her seemingly random appearance! This was a bit of a filler chapter, I admit. Next up… some real action! (Sort of.)

I snuck in a LotR reference there. Did you spot it?

It's always been kind of funny to me how similar the Valar and the Greek gods/goddesses were. I finally got my chance to put that into a story, too.

As usual, be sure to drop me a line! And if you notice any mistakes (blatant canonical inconsistencies, grammatical errors, etc.) please tell me. I'm definitely not perfect, but I want to make my work as good as it can possibly be and would heartily welcome any advice that you could give.


End file.
